


By Firelight

by AceQueenKing



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Val and Beckett had gotten lucky with Sing. And they both knew it.





	By Firelight

The whiskey was _bad_.  Worse somehow than the position of their camp up here in the god damn hills, where even with a fire he still felt cold as tits on a Wampa.  Not much choice though - Sing had had a lot of allies, and the last thing he wanted to do was go toe to toe with motherfucking Cad Bane or Ohnaka or whoever she was runnin' with these days. The taste of the shit made it difficult to drink, but he kept swallowing.  Had to warm up _somehow_.  

Still, It was bad enough it almost didn’t feel like a waste when Val poured a little bit on his arm – Sing had gotten a shot off, but Val had deflected the bullet meant for his head, with a bit of quick thinking and a damn good shot. Sing had fumbled, and her so-called deadly shot had only grazed his arm. His push had taken care of the rest – well, that and the cliff.

Still, they’d gotten lucky. And they both knew it.

“Stop squirming,” Val muttered, though there was no fire in her voice. She looked tired, tense; she could use a drink.

“Who’s squirmin’?” He said, playing offended; they both knew that he didn’t mean it. It was comforting to go through the motions, to pretend that they hadn’t just finished this job by the skin of their damn teeth.

She frowned as she splashed a bit more of the whiskey on his skin. It hurt like a bitch, but he didn’t tell her that. He did his best not to move, still; best not to piss off his girl, she was like dealing with a stubborn bantha on Tatooine when she got mad.  Though right now, she looked exhausted, a frown disgracing those pretty features.

“Don’t you get fussy now,” he said; he didn’t like it when she got sentimental.

“Who’s fussin’?” She said, leaning up against him. She was comforting, and warm, and he leaned in against her. Before she could complain, he reached out his hand. She was used to his fast fingers – in more ways than one.

She didn’t protest as he grabbed the whiskey and took a sip. Though it stung, he pulled his arm up over her shoulder, and took comfort in the fact they were still living and breathing, for now.

“We gotta get a third,” he said; Sing had been _too_ close a call. They flirted with death enough as it was, didn’t mean they had to lean out and _kiss_ it. Didn’t bother him so much for him – he’d die in this life, boots on the ground, but Val… He fully intended for her to be able to walk away from the game, at some point.   “Pilot or something. Someone who can provide cover fire. I can’t —”  He didn’t say _I can’t lose you_ , but he damn well thought it.

And judging by the softening of her features, she damn well read it off him. Her mouth relaxed and she leaned into him a bit; her hand hit his knee and he smiled at her.

They both stared into the fire for a moment as it crackled. Finally, she moved; quick as a minx raised drinkin’ coaxium. Her hand darted from his knee to his hand, grabbing the liquor.

“Hey!” He said; she looked back at him with her purloined goods, smiling.

 Her eyes suggested he do something about it. He reckoned he should, bad arm be damned.

He wasn’t as fast as her but he had some skills; he grabbed her tight and his good hand lead her mouth to his own. She sucked in a breath; he knew it wasn’t typical for him to be so tender, but, well, maybe they could make sweet, tender barely-made-it-out-alive sex one of the perks of barely surviving a rough job.

He kissed her hard, and she didn’t complain; her arms tightened around him as she wormed her way into his lap, comfortingly warm and soft. She mewled softly as his hand slipped to her belt, unbuckling it slowly.

Her lips still tasted like the cheap whiskey, but he had to admit, on her, he did not mind.

 


End file.
